


The Art of Caring

by Rookblonkorules



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Hurt Edward Elric, Parental - Freeform, Parental RoyEd (sort of), but tagged to be safe, injuries, non-graphic, technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookblonkorules/pseuds/Rookblonkorules
Summary: In which Edward Elric is caught in an explosion, takes stock of his injuries and waits for his brother to find him.Only it’s not his brother who actually does, but someone else entirely.





	The Art of Caring

**Author's Note:**

> This story is dedicated three-ways.  
> The first dedication is to my best friend, Purplehood, who, after years, finally convinced me to sit down and give Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood a try. I did and, now that I have, I wonder why it took me so long, because this show is amazing.  
> The second is to my other best friend, Meritt, who is always incredibly encouraging, reads all my work that I'll send her (the same goes for Purplehood) and is tremendously helpful suggesting edits. (Actually, there was one line that was driving me crazy and we spent ten minutes maybe going over it and trying to reword it together.)  
> The third dedication is for my mom, who when I carefully suggested that she should watch an episode with me, went from, "I'm not watching a stupid cartoon with you," to, "Fine. Just one, but this is only because I love you," to, "Hey, you want to go watch the next episode of Fullmetal Alchemist?" Other than one small problem with the show, she's been really enjoying it! She now loves the characters, ships the ships, etc. I asked her on a car ride how she felt about the couples and she got that smile and started talking about how wonderful Ed and Winry were.  
> I love when parents join you for the fandom ride.  
> Unfortunately, she'll likely never see this. My participation in fanfiction is not something I seek to hide in my house, but I don't openly discuss it either, lol.  
> Canonically, this is set either early on or pre-series (Brotherhood). Take your pic.  
> I'd include a disclaimer if I thought it would do any good, but this is fanfiction and I think that's disclaimer enough.

_ Breathe. _

First order of business: remembering how to breathe.

Ed sucks in a deep breath- and nearly chokes on the pain. 

It feels like there’s something sitting on his chest, crushing his ribcage and making it impossible for his lungs to expand properly. 

_ Okay. _ He pants shallowly.  _ Okay. Just… take it slow. Take it slow. _

Heat still lingers in the air, searing his skin. A stench of sulphur hangs in the air, pungent and unpleasant.

It makes him want to gag.

He turns his head to the side, breathing as shallowly as he can. 

And he remembers. 

The explosion. He’d run right into it, damnit. Like a complete idiot. 

Bastard alchemist is probably laughing his butt off at him right now.

Wondering if he has a broken rib, he lifts his flesh hand, intent to prod his chest gently. The pain is instantaneous, a fire licking at his lungs, and his vision momentarily whites out.

The flesh of his left arm is a bright, angry red, his skin blistered and painful. 

Burns.

He’s been burned. And in more places than just his arm, going by how the rest of him feels.

Ed hisses softly from between clenched teeth and thumps his head softly against the concrete.

All that accomplishes is sending pain rocketing through his skull like a lightning bolt, electrifying every nerve, and he suddenly feels like he’s going to pass out. Or throw up.

Maybe both.

Damnit.  _ Damnit. _

He needs to… needs to take stock of his other injuries. 

An experimental twitch reveals his automail leg is twisted unnaturally, his flesh leg trapped under rubble up to his knee.

There’s no way Ed’s going to be able to drag himself out from under it and, with his chest on fire the way it is, he’s not going to be able to sit up and transmute it off of himself.

Hell, with his flesh hand the way it is, he doesn’t think he’d even be able to  _ attempt  _ alchemy.

So he’s stuck here.

Great. Just  _ great. _

With any luck, Al will be here soon and he’ll… get him out of this mess.

He just has to wait until then.

Easier said than done, but it’s not like he can go anywhere while he waits. 

Damnit.

Patience has never been one of his strong points.

He grits his teeth, slamming his automail against the ground in frustration. Even that is enough to send pain jolting through his shoulder joint. 

Ed spits out a curse, before a series of hacking coughs takes over his frame, leaving him breathless and shaking.

He squeezes his eyes shut, tears are already leaking out. He can feel their wetness sliding down his cheeks.

This is what he gets for leaving Alphonse behind. He’d taken off ahead of him, slipping through a narrow alleyway his armored brother was too large to fit through.

And then another.

And another.

It was a shortcut, he’d reasoned at the time. He’d run ahead and find a way to cut the guy off from the front.

If the guy tried to turn tail and run the other way, well. Alphonse would be covering the back. 

It was supposed to be foolproof.

Until it suddenly wasn’t.

Look at where it’s got him now.

He tilts his chin up- he’s got a nice view of the night sky and the stars are winking down at him (cheeky bastards- who do they think they are?)- trying to ignore the pain that flares with each rise and fall of his chest. 

A shaky sigh passes his lips and Ed turns his head till his cheek comes in contact with the rough concrete.

Where is Alphonse?

He shutters his eyelids closed, taking shallow pants, and blinks his eyes open again.

The stars are still grinning down at him- who do they think they are?- and he grits his teeth with a hiss, eyes fluttering closed again.

Breathing  _ hurts. _

The sound of someone picking their way through the gravel catches his attention and he stirs, eyes peeling open. 

_ Alphonse. _

“Took you long enough, Al,” he says softly. “Get lost on the way?” He lets his eyes slide shut again.

“Not quite.”

Panic grips Ed by the throat and, when he snaps his eyes open, the figure he sees is decidedly human and  _ not  _ his brother.

He’s been an idiot, assuming that their quarry wouldn’t double back to finish him off. 

And if their rogue is here and Al isn’t- what’s happened to his brother?

Al isn’t easily taken down but he’s not invulnerable. 

And the idea that this man may have hurt his little brother terrifies him.

He can’t lose Al.

Ed scrabbles with both his hands against the pavement, struggling to free himself. 

It’s hopeless though. 

The rubble has his leg well and truly pinned and the pain that flares in his injured flesh hand leaves him gasping for breath.

Almost immediately, the figure springs forward, kneeling beside him. Hands are on his shoulders, pinning him down.

“Stop it!” The words filter through his panicked stream of consciousness. “- gonna hurt yourself, Fullmetal!”

“B-bastard?” 

There’s a pause- in which Ed fully expects a lecture on the proper way of addressing one’s superior officers- but instead the hands are removed from his shoulders.

“We need to start getting this off of you?”

Ed coughs as the Colonel starts shifting the rubble.

“Where’s… Al?”

In other words- why are you here and not my brother?

Mustang pauses.

“He couldn’t reach you.” Evidently, the Colonel had surmised the unspoken question- so he wasn’t as dense as he sometimes appeared. Huh. “You managed to get yourself trapped in the one place small enough your brother couldn’t save you.”   


And damnit if Ed couldn’t hear the smug grin he  _ knew  _ accompanied that remark.

“Shut  _ up!” _ Ed rasps, too tired really to get angry. “Or are you forgetting that  _ you’re _ small enough to fit in here too?”

The Colonel  _ does  _ shut up and, for an instant, Ed is struck with a sensation of satisfaction. 

So… the bastard  _ can  _ be rankled after all. That’s good to know for future reference.

_ Or maybe he just doesn’t need  _ you  _ breaking his concentration. _

Ed scowls.

_ Shut up. _

There’s a clatter of rubble and part of the load weighing down on Ed disappears. 

He’s trying to free him.

_ Oh. _

A giddy laugh bubbles up in Ed’s chest and he taps it back down, certain that his superior will see him as well and truly insane should it break free.

“Brace yourself, Fullmetal.”

Ed opens his mouth, intent on asking the Colonel just what the hell he means by that.

Before he can, however, there’s a grunt from Mustang and the slab of rock pinning Ed’s leg shifts.

The pain that shoots up his leg is instantaneous and Ed’s vision momentarily blacks out. He comes to with the sky doing loops around his head, the stars still leering down at him. 

Ed glares back at them.

“Fullmetal!” His superior’s voice snaps him back to reality. “What...?”

“My  _ leg _ , dumbass!” Ed grinds out from between clenched teeth.

A pause follows and Ed is left to wallow in his own silence.

Then another grunt and the slab of rock is lifted completely off of his leg.

Ed almost gasps with relief. The lack of pressure keeping him pinned is absolutely  _ exhilarating. _

“Edward,” the Colonel gets out, his words strained, “I can’t lift this any further. You’re going to need to get yourself out.”

Of course he has to. Because nothing can ever be easy, can it?

Ed sucks in a breath, before heaving himself over onto his side. The movement is sheer agony for his ribs and leg and he clenches his teeth so hard the bones of his jaw ache to keep the scream back.

He doesn’t think he’ll be able to use his flesh arm for anything right now, but his automail is relatively undamaged. 

He drags himself forward, every inch of him screaming out in protest. It’s agonizingly slow going, it feels like. Fire spikes up his leg, dragging uselessly behind him, and through his chest, impaling his heart and setting his entire insides ablaze. 

Ed falls back against the pavement, muscles trembling. He needs a moment. Just a moment to catch his breath. That’s all.

It hurts though. Everything  _ hurts. _

“ _ Fullmetal! _ ”

The Colonel, it appears, doesn’t have a moment. 

Gathering the last of his willpower, Ed heaves himself forward with a sharp cry. He collapses, crashing onto his side. A whine builds in his throat when the landing painfully jars his ribs. 

He ignores it, dragging his legs as close to his chest as he can. 

Not a moment too soon.

The second he’s safely out of range, Mustang drops the slab of rock like it’s on fire. 

Ed flinches almost automatically, then wonders what the hell it is that’s made him so jumpy.

_ Maybe it has something to do with nearly getting blown sky high _ , he sneers back at himself. 

But Mustang kneels next to him. The brush of his fingertips against Ed’s shoulder is as bright and uncertain as it is brief. 

“Where’s-” and this time, when the cough breaks free, Ed can’t hold back the whimper- “Al?”   
And he can’t really be sure because everything’s fading in and out of focus around him, but he’s certain that the look Mustang gives him is one of… concern. 

But, of course, that wouldn’t be true.

Ed wants to snap at him, tell him to mind his own damn business and go judge somebody else for a change and to stop looking at him like- like  _ that _ , but he’s tired and the words just won’t leave his mouth.

“Your brother’s waiting for me to get you out of this mess,” Mustang says, with an air of exasperation that  _ should  _ rankle him, but doesn’t somehow. (He’s just so  _ tired. _ ) “Honestly, Fullmetal. You’d think at some point you’d learn to stop letting yourself get blown up.”

“Not like-” Ed starts, but then Mustang’s arm is sliding under his shoulders and he’s sitting him up. “Hnnng!” His ribs cry out in protest and his clenches his teeth to hold back his own cry.

Mustang stops, uncertain. “Fullmetal…?”

“Those were my  _ ribs, _ you  _ idiot!”  _

His outburst ends with him gasping, desperately trying to get his breathing under control

_ Damnit! _

It shouldn’t have to be this hard.

His flesh hand reaches up to steady himself, clenching the fabric of Mustang’s military-issued jacket before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing. 

Once he is, he yanks his hand away like he’s been burned- only for the Colonel to take the opportunity to slide his hands under his knees and hoist him up. 

Ed lets out an indignant squawk and clutches at his superior’s uniform again.

Mustang doesn’t pay him any heed, climbing to his feet as slowly as he can, but it still sends Ed’s world into an unsteady spiral.

Nausea slams into him like a freight train, and he fights the urge to be sick.

Throwing up all over his superior’s shoes- wouldn’t that take the cake? He doubts Mustang would ever let him forget it. 

On the other hand though- the bastard deserves it probably. 

As if on cue, his stomach lurches, and the world does another nauseating tilt-a-whirl around his head. 

Ed thinks he must have passed out- at least for a second- because he has no recollection of the short amount of time it must have taken Mustang to carry him out of that alley. 

Or most of it really.

He has a vague recollection of a pair of soulfire eyes peering down at him from within an armored visage, of a worried exclamation, “Brother!”

His burned flesh hand reaches out feebly, fingers hooking into claws as he grasps at nothing but air. “Al.” More urgently this time. “Al!”

But Mustang doesn’t relinquish him, instead muttering words that Ed doesn’t understand and doesn’t care to. 

He just wants his brother, he wants Al, but the darkness is reaching its hands back for him, exhaustion seizing ahold of his brain.

Ed slides his eyes shut and lets it claim him.

….

The first real thing he’s aware of is the ringing in his ears. It’s soft at first and he barely notices it, but it rises steadily to a crescendo till it’s as incessant as a mosquito’s hum. 

His head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and, where he’s sure he should be feeling pain, there’s instead this sensation of simply… not feeling.

It’s unnerving and he doesn’t like it.

He clenches his teeth, tries to move his hand and arm and he-

-can’t.

Just can’t.

Dozens of equally terrifying scenarios flash through his mind in the blink of an eye. He’s been tied down- the fact that he can’t feel the restraints means nothing in the light of the fact that he can’t feel, well, anything- paralysis inducing drugs… take your pick.

It’s that terror that has him fighting against this not-feeling more than anything else and his eyes shoot open, a panicked gasp dying in his throat.

“Brother!”

Alphonse is suddenly there, taking up nearly all of Ed’s field of vision. He reaches his arms out to grab him, to make sure he’s alright, that he’s whole, but then pulls back, like he’s afraid of breaking him.

“Al?” Ed blinks sluggishly, turning his head to get a better look at the room accommodating him. What’s…”

“Don’t you ever do something like that again!” Emotion makes Al’s voice thick. “Don’t you know you could have died?”

Yeah, he had known. At the time, it had been a calculated risk. 

That’s all changed in the face of nearly getting blown to bits. Of nearly leaving Al alone.

It makes him sick to think of it.

Ed shuts his eyes, swallowing the bitter taste that fills his mouth.

“Yeah, I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Al.” 

“If you ever pull something like that again,” Al says lowly, and Ed opens his eyes to find his younger brother studying him, not in the least bit mollified by his apology, “I’ll… I’ll…” For a moment, the younger boy falters, trying to come up with a suitable threat. Finally, he finishes with, “I’ll help the Colonel lock you up!”

Ed jerks his head, looking at Alphonse in alarm. “You wouldn’t…” He makes to struggle upright, but his muscles haven’t decided they’re ready to cooperate with him yet and he flops against the pillows with a frustrated grunt.

“I would!”

Al crosses his arms stubbornly.

Ed lets his head fall back against the pillow, a defeated sigh on his lips. 

Then, he grins, flesh fingers twitching (his automail, unfortunately, still isn’t responding. He’ll have to see Winry about that one, which is one conversation he is  _ not  _ looking forward to.). “Not gonna work, Al,” he says. “The Colonel’ll get sick of me before too long and I’ll be home free.”

“You so sure about that, Fullmetal?” There’s a click as the Colonel lets the door swing shut behind him. “I think I might actually see the appeal in your brother’s suggestion.”

“Ah, Colonel!” Alphonse straightens in surprise. 

Ed’s eyes widen. “Bastard? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Brother!” Al exclaims, aghast.

Ed ignores him, focused entirely instead on his superior.

“What’s the matter, Fullmetal?” The Colonel keeps his hands in his pockets. Other than a slightly raised brow, his face betrays no emotion. “Am I not allowed to care about my subordinate’s wellbeing?”

For a moment, all Ed can do is stare, incredulous, brain fumbling for a response. Is the… is the bastard actually trying to tell him that he  _ cares? _

Finally, he clenches his teeth, the fingers of his flesh hand curling into a fist. “Don’t act like I matter to you more than as a step up to your next promotion,” he says lowly.

There’s a soft intake of breath from Alphonse. “Brother…”

Again, Ed ignores him, not without a pang of guilt, focusing entirely on the Colonel.

For the first time since he entered the room, a flicker of emotion crosses Mustang’s face, but the man taps it down so quickly that Ed wouldn’t have had a chance to identify it, even had he cared to.

With a sigh, the Colonel allows himself to sink into one of the chairs the hospital provided for visitors.

“Is that really what you think?”

Ed narrows his eyes as he studies the man. He keeps his mouth shut. What exactly is he getting at here? Of course that’s what he thinks. The bastard has never exactly given him a reason to think otherwise.

When Ed isn’t forthcoming with a response, Mustang sighs, rubbing two fingers across the bridge of his nose.

“I’m a military man, Edward.” 

Edward instead of Fullmetal. That surprises Ed, who can’t think of a time when Roy has chosen to address him by his given name, rather than the title assigned him by the state.

Since when have they been on a first name basis?

“You think I can just hand out affection like a…” he pauses, reconsidering whatever was about to leave his mouth, “like anyone else?” His gaze hardens. “This is the military, Fullmetal. It might seem harsh to you, but make no mistake. I care about the lives of  _ each and every _ man under my command.” He stands up. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

Ed watches him go, a sinking feeling in his gut that he can’t explain. 

“Colonel, wait!” he calls.

Mustang pauses at the door, only half-turned, waiting expectantly.

Ed’s fingers the bedsheets awkwardly, trying to find a way to speak around the tightness in his throat.

“Well?” Mustang says. “Come on, Fullmetal. I haven’t got all day.”

“Shut  _ up, _ bastard,” he grinds out. “I’m _ trying.” _

He closes his eyes, hand clenching around the sheets. Damnit, why is speaking suddenly so  _ hard? _

“I…” he begins, stops, tries again, “I just wanted to say thank you. For getting me out of that.”

He opens his eyes, wondering if it’s possible for the man’s shock to bleed through his stoicism.

If he  _ is  _ surprised, he skillfully keeps it hidden. 

“You’re welcome,” he says.

A moment later, a small smirk spreads across his features. One hand still rests on the doorframe. “And I guess you could say… it’s fortunate you were caught in such a  _ small  _ explosion. Otherwise, we might not have been so lucky.”

And then he’s gone- gone even as Ed’s shouts echo down the hospital’s halls.

“You  _ bastard!” _


End file.
